


l'appel du vide

by taeminki



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-13 02:16:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11174919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taeminki/pseuds/taeminki
Summary: There was a reason puffy eyes and tired arguments had become so normal for Dongyoung and Youngho.





	1. o.

**Author's Note:**

> ♪ can't sleep -vanic x k.flay

Thunder struck Dongyoung's window at the same time a small tap sounded against the corner of his curtain. Strangely enough, Dongyoung heard the tap above the thunder-- perhaps because he was expecting it. He slipped out of bed as soon at the tap reached his ears, and he went to his window. He pulled his curtains back and gently pushed his window out, a smile coming to his face at the sight he was met with. Seo Youngho was on his balcony, soaking wet but smiling in contrast. His eyes were red; he may have been crying earlier. His arms were around his stomach like he was cold, or maybe holding himself together. Whichever way it went, Dongyoung's hug would help; so, without saying a thing, he opened his arms.

Like Dongyoung, Youngho didn't utter a word as he tip-toed into his boyfriend's room. He didn't duck immediately into Dongyoung's arms, and instead turned to close the window, blocking out the wind and the rain. His next moves were quick-- a blink of an eye later, and he was falling apart in Dongyoung's arms, wet eyes against his shoulder, laughter sounding out around his sobs. He was having one of _those_  nights-- one of those nights being one in which there was so much hurt within him that the only way to express it was through laughter. Dongyoung felt a pinch in his heart as he wondered what could have happened that night.

"Tell me." Dongyoung muttered, his lips brushing Youngho's ear. He might have kissed the reddened area if he felt it appropriate, but he didn't-- not at that moment. Some silence passed, and Youngho said nothing. He didn't move; it didn't even seem like he was breathing. And then he took a deep breath in, and it came out hot against Dongyoung's wet neck-- wet with the rain from Youngho's skin and soon with the slick of Youngho's tongue. It was one of those nights; Youngho ignored his problems and refused to make use of his words. He nibbled Dongyoung's skin and took off his shirt; he soaked Dongyoung's bedsheets with rain as he pulled the boy to his bed, lay him down and began to expose his skin. Dongyoung let him-- helped him, even. He ignored the way Youngho was soaking his skin and his sheets as he slid a hand to the back of Youngho's neck, as he opened his legs and his lips and let Youngho have him. It was quick and sloppy and Youngho teared up halfway through; and he fell asleep as soon as it was over, his fingers gripping Dongyoung's tightly. Dongyoung didn't have a chance to ask him if he was alright, or to tell him to talk. At least there was morning; Dongyoung threw his blanket over their wet bodies and left everything to the morning-- the morning, when they would both be on their way to falling sick-- the morning, when Youngho might want to talk-- the morning, when the rain may cease and the sun may shine through the clouds.


	2. i.

The rain didn't stop.

"What happened last night?" Dongyoung asked-- nine o'clock in the morning, having showered and gently woken Youngho up. Youngho shrugged, rubbing his tired, puffy eyes. He was sitting up but slouching over; his shoulders were defeated, and his expression didn't show an ounce of happiness-- not even the fake kind he'd sobbed into Dongyoung's shoulder last night. Dongyoung settled on the bed, holding his towel over his heart. Youngho reached for his hand; Dongyoung flinched away and told him "No," and Youngho rubbed his eyes and told him "I'm sorry," the first thing he'd said to Dongyoung in a few days. Dongyoung shook his head, told him "Don't be sorry. Talk to me. Then we can do whatever you want."

"You don't have to just do anything I want, Dongyoung. You know that, right?" Youngho asked. He reached for Dongyoung's hand again-- his other hand, and Dongyoung let him take it, squeezed his fingers and enjoyed the touch. Dongyoung nodded, "I know. But I want to--" and Youngho rolled his thumb over Dongyoung's fingers, "It means something to me. Every time-- I love you more and more."

"I love you more and more," Dongyoung agreed. He climbed further on the bed, and he planted a little kiss on the corner of Youngho's mouth-- an accident, because he meant to kiss his cheek, and his jaw, and his nose, and his forehead. Youngho closed his eyes and enjoyed the little kisses-- the soft sounds Dongyoung's lips made against his skin and the soft way it felt to have Dongyoung's lips against him. He sniffled once when Dongyoung had pulled back, sat down. Dongyoung frowned, "Do you feel okay?"

"No." Youngho answered. He let go of Dongyoung's hand to hold his arms out. Dongyoung carefully scoot himself closer to Youngho; the fact that he was already facing the older made it easy for him to fit his hip right next to Youngho's and press their chests together, one arm around him in a hug. Youngho's arms were more free, and much more desperate-- clinging to Dongyoung like he never wanted to let go. Dongyoung rubbed his naked back and kissed his naked ear-- felt it appropriate to do so.

"Do you want me to make you breakfast?" Dongyoung asked. Youngho shook his head. Dongyoung hooked his hand over Youngho's shoulder and rest his chin upon his fingers, wondered "Is there anything I can do for you?"

Youngho's answer was a kiss-- a kiss and a grip of Dongyoung's hand. A small shift and Dongyoung's towel came undone, pooling around his waist. Dongyoung made one sound of protest, and Youngho pulled back-- far enough that their lips weren't touching, but their foreheads still were. His grip on Dongyoung's hand became limp and gentle; and he apologized, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Dongyoung said. He slipped his hand over the back of Youngho's neck. Youngho pressed forward again; Dongyoung slipped back. Youngho opened his eyes, "I want to kiss you. That's all. I'll put on clothes-- you, too, if you're more comfortable but-- but I want to kiss you. Bad."

"Okay." Dongyoung said. He abandoned his towel but went to his closet, and he pulled on something simple-- sweatpants without underwear and a long t-shirt. He turned, and Youngho was dressed, too, sitting cross-legged in the middle of Dongyoung's bed. He watched Dongyoung approach him, and he stretched out-- back against the headboard, legs in front of him. Dongyoung climbed onto his lap and carded his fingers through Youngho's hair; Youngho's head obediently tilted back, and Dongyoung connected their lips. Youngho's hands found Dongyoung's hips and held on, fingernails catching and releasing the end of his shirt.

Youngho's lips told Dongyoung a story.

Youngho nibbled on Dongyoung's bottom lip, and that told Dongyoung he was desperate for his body; he was desperate for a dirty touch, and he had had a rough night. His gentle tongue told Dongyoung that he was weak; he had no energy. His constant little movements told Dongyoung he was on edge. His tiny, quick breaths told Dongyoung his heart was beating too fast. His sudden cough in the middle of their kiss-- luckily, after he'd pulled away-- told Dongyoung he'd probably caught a cold after being in the rain too long.

"I should get you some soup." Dongyoung said as Youngho was coughing over Dongyoung's shoulder, fist in front of his lips so that he didn't spread the germs. (It was a little late for that anyway, Dongyoung thought.) Youngho shook his head in response to Dongyoung's words, and he leaned his head back again, sniffled and sighed. He closed his eyes; he parted his lips and told Dongyoung "I'm sorry. I'm a mess."

"I love you." Dongyoung said in response, and Youngho cracked an eye open. Dongyoung smiled; and then he cupped a hand over Youngho's lips and kissed the back of his hand. He felt Youngho's cheeks move beneath his palm, and he pulled it back to see the little smile-- enough that Youngho had closed his eyes again. Dongyoung sat himself back on Youngho's legs-- his weight no longer supported by his own knees. Youngho tilted his head up; his hands slipped to Dongyoung's back.

"Tell me." Dongyoung said to Youngho. Youngho slowly blinked at Dongyoung, asked "Do you really want to know?" and Dongyoung nodded. Youngho bit the inside of each of his lips-- his bottom, his top, and each of his cheeks-- his left, his right. And then he parted his lips and let it all spill at once, "I relapsed two nights ago."

Dongyoung's body went numb; and, without meaning to, he shifted away from Youngho, hands falling away from the older's body. He saw the tears well up in Youngho's eyes before he looked down. For a moment, Youngho was silent; he was pulling himself together, and Dongyoung was trying to process what he'd just heard. _Relapse:_   Dongyoung gulped against the concept; and then Youngho lifted his head and explained that he was "so, so sorry--" and that his "best friend died three nights ago," and Dongyoung felt awful, but he was confused, "Why-- why didn't you just... come to me...? I--" Dongyoung knew he wasn't a miracle-worker, but he was Youngho's _boyfriend_ \--

"I know. I'm sorry." Youngho twisted his fingers between his hands, blinked; and Dongyoung watched some tears fall. He watched most of the strength fall from Youngho's body. The rest of it collected in his fists, and he balled them up around Dongyoung's sheets. Dongyoung was wary of his strengthened fists; and he shakily placed his hands over them, softly curled his fingers around them. Youngho looked up, and he let his hands fall weak, too; his voice taking over their strength, "Please forgive me, Dongyoung. I'm sorry."

"Is that why you've been gone for three days?" Dongyoung asked. He wasn't looking at Youngho anymore; he was looking at the backs of his hands and what he could see of Youngho's palms. Youngho told him, "I-I didn't want to be around you like that. I-- had to go to a funeral and... yes. I avoided you. I'm sorry."

"It's natural to relapse." Dongyoung said. His curled his fingers into their own fists, but only for the purpose of tickling Youngho's palms. He noticed Youngho's fingers twitch, and he went still for a moment, and then he let his fist blossom out, palm meeting Youngho's. And then he curled his fingers again, fingernails tickling Youngho's palm. Another twitch of his fingers, another pause; and then Dongyoung spoke again, "I'm sorry about your friend."

"Guess how he died." Youngho said, accompanied by a highly inappropriate chuckle. Dongyoung looked up, the wonder showing in his eyes, the "tell me" sounding out in his gaze. Again, Youngho inappropriately laughed, and he told Dongyoung, "He overdosed."

Nothing about that was funny, except it was. Dongyoung didn't understand why, but he knew.

"He was one of those live forever guys." Youngho told Dongyoung. Tell he did, "He was going to be the Peter Pan of our generation-- grow up as old as kids come and then rescue us Lost Boys. You know?"

Dongyoung couldn't explain why he asked "Are you high right now, Youngho?" but it only managed to mix in with the rest of the confusion. Youngho laughed, brought his palms to his eyes and rubbed away the thin film of tears over them. He sniffled; he shook his head; "I'm just crazy, babe," and Dongyoung slipped his palms over the back of Youngho's hand, and he brought him close and kissed his nose and told him "I'm sorry."

"I love you." Youngho said. His palms followed the lines of Dongyoung's body-- starting at his thighs and sliding to his hips-- slipping beneath his shirt and collecting heat from Dongyoung's abdomen. Dongyoung shivered beneath his touch, but Youngho's touch was not shaken off. Dongyoung found himself pressing closer to the slight cold from Youngho's palm-- the slight cold of Youngho's mood. He had a sense of warming him up; he felt like he had to. So he did. He pulled Youngho closer by his belt loops and told him to relax against the sheets. He did what Youngho wanted-- what Youngho craved; and Youngho told Dongyoung he loved him, while Dongyoung had to say it with his eyes, mouth too full to say it back. Dongyoung didn't doubt that Youngho loved him. He just wondered if Youngho was conscious of it.


	3. ii.

"The regular, I presume?"

Dongyoung hadn't even realized it was his turn to order. Luckily, Jung Yoonoh called his attention, and Dongyoung stepped forward with an embarrassed breath and a small correction, "Two, actually. I've got my boyfriend with me."

"Is that him over there?" Yoonoh asked, and Dongyoung followed the subtle point of his finger to his boyfriend. His twisted head turned back to Yoonoh, and he nodded. Yoonoh gave a small laugh-- one of pity, "He looks a wreck."

"He is a wreck." Dongyoung muttered, digging through his wallet for money. The insult wasn't meant so much as an insult, just an unfortunate fact that had come to be. Yoonoh snorted in response, however, as he took it as a subtle, insulting remark from his best friend. Dongyoung simply let him think that as he was handing over the money to pay for the two espressos, of which he usually only ordered one. He didn't have enough energy or time to go on a tale of why Youngho was such a wreck, and why that was simply a part of him, now.

"Hey. Call me later, okay?" Yoonoh asked, and Dongyoung nodded, moving to the side to wait for his coffee. Yoonoh reached over and tapped him after taking the next customer's order, muttered "I'll have someone bring your coffee to you," and Dongyoung gave him a thankful smile and made his way back to his boyfriend. Youngho sat up upon hearing the approaching and then silent footsteps; he smiled at his boyfriend and gestured for him to sit, as if Dongyoung wouldn't have otherwise. Dongyoung didn't sit until Youngho's signal, so he supposed the gesture wasn't out of place.

"Espresso was okay?" Dongyoung wondered. Youngho shrugged, "Don't really drink coffee--" and faltered at the look on Dongyoung's face. His falter consisted of a glance down and a clear of his throat-- then a little laugh, a nod, and another glance, in Dongyoung's direction this time, "Anything is okay, baby."

"Is _everything_  okay?" Dongyoung asked. Youngho shrugged, a falter of the same previous actions following the doubt. His gaze followed the sharp edges of Dongyoung's face, smoothing out with each new flavor of muffin he ate in the morning. Youngho loved him all the same-- sharp or smooth-- angry or happy. Youngho loved Dongyoung like this, angry and smoothing out, with a fake smile when a waitress came by with their drinks, which would serve to smooth Dongyoung out more. The smile was gone as quick as the waitress was-- rushing away because she was so busy, muttering about "Damn Jung Yoonoh, like I have time to deliver--" and Youngho supposed he shouldn't call her a waitress as much as he should call her a worker.

"If anything is okay, why isn't everything okay?" Dongyoung whispered, picking up his little spoon to stir through his little coffee. Youngho did the same, stirring and stirring and hoping to find an answer hidden somewhere. It came when his fingers began to burn with the steam and itched to hold Dongyoung-- when he reached for Dongyoung's limp hand and allowed his fingers to slip through-- when he blurted out "Different worlds, baby," and watched Dongyoung's expression fall, his shoulders dropping in a way that had Youngho wishing they would lift with anger again.

"I just--" Dongyoung began, but he couldn't continue. He looked at his hand, intertwined with Youngho's, as if he wanted to pull away, but he didn't. He didn't pull away. He allowed their hands to rest together, and he even shifted his fingers just a little bit so they were both more comfortable. And then he moved his espresso out of the way, and he lay his arm against the table, and he lay his head against his arm. Youngho gently mirrored his position, sliding into it rather than force himself into it. It was uncomfortable, but his eyes met Dongyoung at a lower, calmer level, and they could talk down here, "You just what, baby?"

"I just wish things were different." Dongyoung muttered, staring at the table. Youngho almost said "I know," but Dongyoung began to speak again before Youngho could utter his response, "Maybe it's not fair of me to want that, because that's... a lot, I suppose. But I want things to be different."

"I do, too." Youngho muttered. He eyed his espresso, which did look awfully delicious-- he was right in telling Dongyoung that anything was okay; and then he decided that the thought was inappropriate for the moment, and he focused back on Dongyoung, who had settled his gaze on Youngho, "We can work together, okay? Things will be different. I promise."

"What should I work on?" Dongyoung asked softly. Youngho tilted his head, a frown accompanying his confusion. Dongyoung gulped, like his words may be difficult to say, "A lot of the change that I-I want revolves around you.... Actually, I don't personally want anything about myself to change but-- but this is a relationship and I-- I want to know what you want. What can I do, Youngho?"

"Just hold my hand. Just like this-- all you need to do is help me, okay?" Youngho asked. He brought Dongyoung's hand to his mouth and kissed it softly. Dongyoung's face expressed a frown, this time-- "Of course I'll help you, but... you must want something. I'm not perfect."

"I don't want perfect. I pray you don't want that, either," Youngho kissed Dongyoung's knuckle again. Dongyoung shrugged, "I guess my idea of perfect is...."

"Is?" Youngho asked softly. Dongyoung stared at the table for one moment, at Youngho for another. A new film of tears had entered the picture, but Dongyoung's eyes blinked and it was gone, and Dongyoung was shaking his head and sitting up and letting go of Youngho's hand, and he said "Nothing" in a rush, like his dream had really been a nightmare. Youngho wasn't going to let Dongyoung's thoughts escape him, so he reached back for Dongyoung and held his fingers, and he begged "What is it, baby? Please tell me," and Dongyoung quietly admitted, "I just... want you to be conscious of your love, that's all."

"But I am, baby. There isn't a moment I don't think about how much I love you," Youngho said, and Dongyoung sniffled, "Yes, but-- how much of that time is spent sober?"

"More of it. More and more. It's something I'm working on-- I'm working, I promise." Youngho kissed both of Dongyoung's hands-- inside and out. His palms tasted bitter, and Youngho wondered if some of his coffee had soaked into his skin. Youngho eyed his espresso again, and then he shut it out of his mind. A laugh bubbled out of Dongyoung as he let go of Youngho's hands, "Drink your coffee, babe. We'll talk about this later, okay?"

"Is there more you wanted to say?" Youngho wondered, an eyebrow quirked in curiosity. He thought Dongyoung might nod and let the conversation die-- to be brought back again later when they checked their progress and discussed just how close to _perfect_  they had become. But Dongyoung had let the conversation awfully open-- and on an awful cliffhanger, with a shrug and the inside of his mouth painted black. Youngho couldn't ask him questions as coffee was sliding down his throat; and then Youngho's mouth was full of the same warm liquid, and the conversation truly died when Dongyoung put his cup down and replaced the string of emotional words, "Do you want something else, babe?"

"You." Youngho muttered softly, further ruining the serious streak. Dongyoung's lips curved into a little smile, and his shy eyes fluttered from the table to Youngho's face. He held out his palm and asked "I suppose we should go, then?" and Youngho nodded, "Absolutely, we should."


	4. iii.

Youngho was gone in the morning. It was typical of him to leave Dongyoung in the middle of the night, like he was one of Youngho's old college one-night stands. Dongyoung tried not to get too angry, but the bitterness settled deep in his throat over breakfast--by himself. The bitter taste of coffee didn't nearly compare to the way everything tasted because of Dongyoung's own feelings. Why did he keep pulling Youngho in if he wasn't going to hold on? Why did he keep letting Youngho into his bed if he wasn't going to try to be at home with him?

Dongyoung's questions were left unanswered, hanging in a blank space in his mind as his phone rang. The caller I.D. said Youngho and Dongyoung was more than tempted not to answer it. What did he want, anyhow? Did he want to come over again? He shouldn't have left. Dongyoung didn't even consider the fact that he may be busy, that he may be back at work; he was too upset with Youngho all around to want to consider any of his excuses-- yes he still picked up the phone.

"Hello? Is this Kim Dongyoung?" a woman's voice flooded through the phone before Dongyoung had even greeted her-- perhaps a good thing, because he was going to start yelling, or nagging-- but perhaps not a good thing, because why the hell was there a girl on Youngho's phone? Dongyoung wondered "Who the hell is this?" and felt a little bit bad when the woman sobbed, "Please tell me this is Dongyoung--" and he said "Yeah, it is. Who are you?" and the hysterical woman rushed out too many words at once, "I-- I'm the mother of-- of Youngho's friend. T-Ten died recently, and Youngho came over just now to-- to say some things. I-I don't know what happened-- he was drunk and-- and he just stormed in and he started yelling. He-- he told me to call you-- said he wanted to go home-- and now he's up in Ten's room and he won't stop throwing things--"

Dongyoung had no idea why the woman didn't just call the police, but he was somewhat grateful all the same. He rather his boyfriend not go to jail because he decided to get drunk again. Perhaps it was serve him right; perhaps he wouldn't learn a thing from it. He may be too drunk to remember getting arrested; he may wake up and be confused, but then he would break free of the bars with Dongyoung's expensive little burst of magic and fall right back into his arms.

"Please send me your address, ma'am, I-- I'll get him." Dongyoung said. The woman sobbed a "Thank you" that Dongyoung didn't stick around to hear. He hung up almost right away and stormed out to his car, still in his pajamas, barely pulling his shoes on. He drove to the address the woman sent. It wasn't far from Dongyoung's place-- even closer to Youngho's place. The woman was pacing around on her porch when Dongyoung pulled up. She jumped down the steps and grabbed Dongyoung's arm, quickly pulling him, "He-- he's just upstairs-- he won't stop throwing things around--" and Dongyoung held up a hand, gently pushing the woman off of his arm, "I've got him--" and he traveled up the stairs and walked right into the loudest room.

Youngho was throwing around everything in Ten's room-- as Dongyoung had been expecting. It was strange, Dongyoung thought, because Youngho wasn't an angry kind of drunk. He was never, ever _angry_ \-- Dongyoung couldn't imagine what made him angry. He thought about listening to Youngho's angry words, and he would have heard "Why did you do this?! Why would you do this?!" if he had-- and perhaps he could investigate, attach some clues to the angry words and the strange death, but Dongyoung didn't listen; he simply stepped forward and grabbed Youngho's arm, yelling "What the hell are you doing--?" and finding himself cut off when a hand came down on his cheek, twisting his face to the side. He was shocked for a moment and angry in the next; he pushed Youngho away when he sobbed and fell to his knees. He screamed again, "What the hell--?" and Youngho wrapped his arms around Dongyoung's waist, "Baby. Dongyoung, Dongyoung, Dongyoung," and he likely didn't even realize what he had done. Maybe it was an accident. Dongyoung hadn't even seen it coming-- not for a split second, after all.

"He's gone, Dongyoung. He's gone-- he left me-- why would he do that--?" Youngho sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. His mouth was against Dongyoung's stomach, voice muffled, cries quiet. Dongyoung's cheek stung, soothed by random tears the hit had pulled from his eye. Dongyoung rubbed his hand over his eye quickly, wondering if Youngho would notice. He did; he looked up, and he frowned, and he asked, "Baby, who hit you?" and Dongyoung concluded that no, Youngho didn't realize what he'd done. It likely was an accident; Dongyoung got too close, and Youngho was already flailing his arms around. Dongyoung took notice of how quickly Youngho's anger had melted away when he saw his boyfriend.

"Nobody." Dongyoung said. Youngho frowned; he not to his feet, he turned Dongyoung's face in his hands. He studied the red mark, and Dongyoung felt uncomfortable with those hands on him-- the same one that had hit him was now soothing the red mark. Then it was Youngho's lips-- a small kiss against a red area to soothe it. Youngho picked up another random tear with the kiss, and he frowned, "Baby, who hurt you? No one can hurt you--"

"It's nobody, Youngho, I told you. Let's-- let's just go. Come on." Dongyoung said. He grabbed Youngho's abusive hand and pulled him-- out of Ten's room, down the stairs. He stuffed Youngho into the car and paused for a moment to look at the woman standing on the porch. Dongyoung didn't know what to say. He felt rude for the way he was acting-- as he took some time to realize that he was only so angry because of Youngho. He was better than that; he was a better person than this. Drugs could change Youngho; they didn't have to change Dongyoung, too.

"I'll be back in a while, ma'am. I'm going to take care of him, and then I'll come clean up Ten's room, okay?" Dongyoung asked. The woman looked confused, but she nodded anyway. She didn't say another word before turning and going into the house, gently closing the door behind her shaking form. Dongyoung felt bad for her-- to lose her son and then watch her son's friend tear up his room... what a week.

 

  
Dongyoung fed Youngho when the two were at home. Youngho playfully-- as playfully as he could-- complained that his soup was watered down. Dongyoung considered telling him that the reason behind that lay in Youngho's emotion, tears dripping down into his soup and effectively added too much water to the original chicken flavor, but Dongyoung stay silent again. He rather be quiet. He didn't trust himself with words at the moment. He knew he never said anything nice when he was in a bad mood.

"Who hit you, baby?" Youngho said when Dongyoung collected his empty bowl. His reddened cheek happened to pass right by Youngho's sight. Youngho had sobered up a bit, and looked extremely concerned. He reached for Dongyoung's face, but Dongyoung moved away quickly, putting Youngho's bowl in the sink and rinsing it out. Youngho stood; he moved to stand behind Dongyoung and wrapped his arms around the younger man. He placed his chin on Dongyoung's shoulder so that his cheek was in line with Dongyoung's red one. He kissed it softly; he tried to convince Dongyoung to tell him, "Who hit you, baby?" but Dongyoung was never going to say a word about it.

"You should go home, Youngho. Get some rest-- sober up." Dongyoung said. He escaped from Youngho's arms and started toward the table with a sponge. It was completely clean, but Dongyoung had to clean it more. He picked up the habit from his ex-boyfriend-- someone he dated until he met Youngho in college. Lee Taeyong was obsessed with cleaning; he did it when he was happy, or angry, or stressed. Dongyoung began to do it when he was stressed, too; so he scrubbed away at the counters and waited for Youngho to leave.

"Can't I sleep here, baby? With you?" Youngho asked. His hands came to Dongyoung's waist again, and he pulled Dongyoung's his back this time, pressing them flush against his own. Dongyoung turned his head, pained cheek to Youngho's lips. Youngho didn't stop kissing him-- kiss, kiss on his cheek-- kiss, kiss down his neck. Dongyoung pushed on his chest, "No, Youngho. I want you to go home."

Youngho pulled away from Dongyoung, looking dejected. He wondered, "Are you mad at me, baby?" and Dongyoung was honest, "As a matter of fact, I am;" and Youngho started looking more and more like a kicked puppy as, again, he wondered, "Why?" and Dongyoung tried not to explode, "Because you _destroyed_  Ten's room and--! you know what, Youngho, you're not going to understand right now. You're drunk, and you smell awful-- go home and take a shower."

"I want to stay with you so bad, baby. Please, Dongyoung-- please don't push me away-- don't leave me alone-- I can't be alone, baby, I can't." Youngho said. Dongyoung felt his patience wear thin. He just wanted Youngho to leave so Dongyoung could go back to Ten's place and help the dead kid's mother; he just wanted to be alone with his thoughts and his headache, but Youngho was awful persistent, "Please, please, I won't touch you a bit, I promise. I promise-- hands to myself."

"Stop touching me now, then." Dongyoung said, and Youngho did. He pulled his hands away like Dongyoung had burned him, stepped away like Dongyoung might bite him. Dongyoung looked at Youngho for some minutes, and then he gestured like he was shooing Youngho away, "Go shower. You can sleep on my bed."

"I love you." Youngho said. He stepped back and touched Dongyoung again, but it was for a simple kiss-- one that tasted disgusting, sure, but Dongyoung couldn't be mad enough at him that he wouldn't allow a kiss and a quick touch on a safe part of him-- his side. Even drunk, Youngho knew his comfort zones and his limits, and Dongyoung's heart couldn't help but swell for someone who loved him so much, especially since Dongyoung loved Youngho that much, too.

Dongyoung stay downstairs while Youngho was showering and sleeping. He got a call from Youngho's phone-- Ten's mother informing him that he'd left the phone there. Dongyoung told her not to worry about it; he would come get the device tomorrow, when he would be available to come and clean the room, too. She thanked him-- over and over, and Dongyoung apologized on Youngho's drunken behalf. She told him it was okay; Youngho said a lot of things that made her understand just how sad he was. Dongyoung almost wished he could have heard the words, too, because he couldn't convince himself that Youngho was sad enough to take it out on other people's lives. What happened to thoughtful Youngho, anyway? What happened to selfless Youngho, the one that took everyone else into consideration but left just enough room for himself, too? Well, he went away with all the potions.

Dongyoung scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed every inch of the kitchen. His hair was matted with sweat when he was done, and he took a shower in the downstairs bathroom. That shower was tiny and cramped but it was what Dongyoung needed. He felt vulnerable in that big house, and his cheek hurt less with the hot, trapped steam. It was nice.

Dongyoung went upstairs to grab a blanket, a pillow, and probably sleep on his couch or in the guest room. When he snuck into his room, however, and flicked on his lamp, Youngho startled him with a greeting, "Baby boy?" and Dongyoung whipped around to find him awake. Dongyoung cleared his shocked throat, "S-sorry. Did I wake you?" and Youngho shook his head. He held out his arms, and told Dongyoung he "Couldn't sleep--" and he clearly expected Dongyoung to help him-- to lay with him and stroke his hair and sing him to sleep, but Dongyoung couldn't do that. He was still angry; he didn't want to act like everything was okay. Besides, it had been hours-- nearly twelve since the morning. Youngho must be sober now.

"You remember what you did, right?" Dongyoung asked. Youngho put his arms down slowly, and he nodded. There was genuine remorse written on his face, enough that Dongyoung considered forgiving him. They just needed to talk first-- talk, because talking solved things, right?

"Why did you do that? She was all alone--" Dongyoung sat down on the end of his bed, pulled his legs up and crossed them. He settled his arms in his lap and tried to make sense of what Youngho had done, "She was really scared, you know? She trusted you, and you tore apart what was left of her son."

"I know." Youngho said. Dongyoung tried not to sound too angry. Youngho was clearly exhausted; he wasn't even trying to defend himself. He didn't give Dongyoung the usual "I was drunk," or even apologize. He was just silent.

"Why did you do that?" Dongyoung asked again. Youngho shrugged, and Dongyoung started to think he was talking to a twelve-year-old who forgot how to speak when he was in trouble-- just pouted and shrugged because his hormones were starting to act up and he didn't understand his random impulses. Dongyoung resisted sighing like an impatient mother and reached for Youngho, remembered how much easier it was for Youngho to talk if only he made eye contact with the person he was trying to converse with. Difficult conversations were easy to come by anymore-- more and more often Dongyoung found himself tucking his fingers beneath Youngho's chin and tilting his head up so their eyes could meet, so Youngho could spill after a third time asking "Why did you do that?"

"I'm angry at him." Youngho said. Dongyoung moved his fingers from Youngho's chin, but Youngho kept his head up, eyes on Dongyoung's. Dongyoung asked, "Why?" because it didn't make a lot of sense. If he was angry at Ten for overdosing, then he was a hypocrite. Youngho never overdosed, but he did the same thing. He used to. He did now. He used to, and then he stopped, and then he relapsed. Dongyoung remembered telling him it was natural to relapse. Dongyoung probably shouldn't have made it out to be so okay-- or perhaps he should have explained it was natural to relapse once and then stop again.

"Because he overdosed," and Youngho made a hypocrite out of himself. Dongyoung wished he had the heart to be angry when Youngho cried. He would call Youngho a hypocrite right to his face and tell him it wasn't fair for him to be angry and take it out on Ten's mother, even if he didn't mean to. But Youngho started to sob, and he pulled Dongyoung close, and Dongyoung was caught in one of those desperate hugs that hurt his spine and made it hard to breathe. Dongyoung didn't have enough strength to pull away-- physically or emotionally, so he was stuck in a hug in which he tried to comfort Youngho without pulling his hair-- telling his angry fingers to calm down. Youngho was emotional; there was a better way to go about helping him through his friend's death than to yell and scold and tell him he was wrong.

Dongyoung just wasn't sure how to do so yet.


	5. iv.

Ten seemed like a happy kid. Dongyoung saw polaroids of him smiling in the mess Youngho had made of his room. His journals were decorated with little doodles and smiley faces that strangely resembled his smiles. He had CDs and movies and a place for them to go; Dongyoung put them back where they had been before Youngho ripped them out. He organized them by title just to give him some time to linger and wonder about the boy that had a DVD of _Train to Busan_  and every single one of TVXQ's albums.

Most of his journals were written in Thai, which was probably a good thing, because Dongyoung would be tempted to read them otherwise. He was sure he would be able to stop himself before he read too much into the dead boy's personal thoughts and feelings, but he would get a glimpse and he wouldn't be able to help himself. (He only knew three Thai words; he didn't recognize a single one in Ten's journal.)

"How is Youngho doing?" Ten's mother came to the door just as Dongyoung had opened up his blue journal. Dongyoung jolted in surprised, fumbling with and then dropping the journal. He cleared his throat, ran a nervous hand through his hair, "I-I'm sorry, I was--" Dongyoung laughed nervously, picked up the journal and added it to the pile he'd found. Only one of them was torn up, and Dongyoung found himself wondering why that one in particular had been ripped apart, but that was a wonder long past-- "Youngho is... fine. He's-- he's sorry."

"He's a good boy, that Youngho. I was confident he would straighten Ten out, make him a better kid. I guess he didn't have enough time...." Dongyoung found it amazing that Ten's mother could still think of Youngho in that way. He thought he would have a much different reaction should one of his dead child's friends come and rip apart their room.

"I didn't know Ten," Dongyoung started. He licked his lips, finding them and the inside of his mouth dry. It was awkward to swallow; it was difficult and uncomfortable. Ten's mother was patient, "but I knew he was... good. Youngho talked to me about him quite a bit. I know they meant a lot to each other."

"For some time, I thought they might start to date." Ten's mother laughed and laughed and then cleared her throat, "Ah, excuse me-- I'm sorry. Not such a nice thing to say to someone's boyfriend, about them dating someone else...."

"It's okay," Dongyoung said quietly. Ten's mother stepped into the room, holding her skirt above her ankles. She settled to the ground on her knees, reaching out for one of the pages that had been torn out of his notebook. She read over the words, and some tears came to her eyes, but a smile, too. She traced her finger over the words. Dongyoung found himself staring, curious as to what she would do. Eventually, after studying one side of the page for a little too long, she spoke, "I just can't make sense of it... why Youngho would tear his room apart like this. I thought Youngho loved him...."

"He did. I think that's why." Dongyoung said. The woman looked up, sad curiosity written on her expression. Dongyoung licked his lips carefully, "I'm not trying to justify my boyfriend at all-- I know what he did was completely wrong, but... he was angry at Ten. He expected a lot-- maybe too much-- out of Ten... a long life, never growing up. He's angry. He's angry at Ten for leaving."

"I'm angry at him, too." Ten's mother said. She was soft-spoken, Dongyoung noticed. Her voice was a whisper in her last statement, and it made Dongyoung realize just how soft her voice was. He'd never heard Ten speak before, but he began to wonder if he spoke in the same soft way. (He began to wonder a lot of things about Ten, especially after his mother's comment of "I thought he was dating your boyfriend." What would make her think that?)

"I'm sorry." Dongyoung told her. She smiled at Dongyoung for a moment, and then she sniffed back everything that had come in the last few moments. She got to her feet, "Thank you for cleaning this up. You ought to call Youngho over here to help."

"He's a little too emotional. He was only angry because he was drunk-- I feel like if he saw this...." Dongyoung looked around at the wreckage-- like a hurricane had gone through the room. He looked up at the woman, who was waiting for him to finish, and he smiled at her, "It's okay, ma'am. I've got this."

 

 

Four hours of straightening out papers and putting together little pieces of shattered objects later, Dongyoung went home to find Youngho hadn't left. He was sleeping on Dongyoung's couch, curled up with one of the stuffed animals Dongyoung kept around just because it was from his childhood. It was a brown bear about half of Youngho's side, used as a pillow, a blanket, and for its true purpose of snuggling up to at night all at once. Dongyoung thought it was cute, seeing Youngho curled up like that, but he still had anger in his heart-- enough anger to not feel guilty about shaking Youngho awake and telling him to "Go home, hyung."

"Baby," Youngho said happily. He wasn't drunk or high or anything; he was sleepy and smiling and reaching for Dongyoung-- and, hell, Dongyoung couldn't resist him when he was like this-- normal and sober and happy. Dongyoung had to sink into his arms and tell him "I love you, too," when Youngho told him he loved him so much. He had to be honest when Youngho asked him "Where has my baby been?"

"Cleaning up Ten's room." Dongyoung said. Youngho went quiet. He was still holding Dongyoung, his hand in the middle of his back now that he had halted his steady rhythm of _up, down, up, down_ , as he rubbed Dongyoung's spine. Dongyoung tried to pull away from the hug, but Youngho tensed, and his hand formed a fist in Dongyoung's back, fabric clenched between his fingers. Dongyoung pushed on Youngho's shoulders, "Hyung--" but Youngho didn't budge, "How's his mom?"

"Disappointed in you." Dongyoung answered immediately. Youngho's grip went weak, and Dongyoung was able to pull away-- and then right back, because he saw on glimpse of Youngho's shocked face-- shocked to tears, and Dongyoung comforted the older male. He pet his hair and let Youngho hold him a little too tight, cry into his shoulder. Youngho begged him "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," but he was saying sorry for something that he shouldn't be sorry to Dongyoung for, so Dongyoung didn't accept his apology.

"You should go home," Dongyoung said, lifting himself from his knees. He realized how much the position had hurt the bend of his leg; the wooden floor pulling his bones in made them ache as he tried to use them for support. Youngho didn't help, with his hand bumping Dongyoung's left knee as he scrambled up, hands automatically reaching for any part of Dongyoung he could, pulling him in--hugs, kisses, anything to convince Dongyoung to let him stay.

"Are you that angry at me, baby? My baby--you've been trying to kick me out since yesterday, I--" Youngho was hugging Dongyoung again, and Dongyoung found himself sick of all this contact. It made him sick to think about it, too; he remembered how much he loved Youngho's touch, but he didn't love Youngho's touch like this. Youngho's hands were dirty. Youngho was dirty. Dongyoung didn't want him in his house.

"I-- hyung, I'm not angry, but--" Dongyoung sighed, trying to push Youngho away without touching his hands. It didn't work, because as soon as he was away, he was reaching for Dongyoung's palms-- and then their hands were together and their fingers were intertwined and Dongyoung looked at Youngho's dirty hands and he felt like crying.

"Get _out_ , hyung--" Dongyoung said, pulling his hands away from Youngho's. Again, Youngho reached for him, and Dongyoung hit his arms-- "Stop touching me, hyung! Why do you _always_ do this, you--"

Dongyoung took a breath. Youngho looked like a kicked puppy and Dongyoung felt bad for bringing his boot to the pup's ribs, but he was so sick of the damn dog nipping at his ankles for attention--

"Please, hyung, just go home. Go t-take a shower and-- you can come back later, but I need you to go, hyung, please--" Dongyoung said, but, again, Youngho cut him off, making him feel guilty with his wounded puppy look and his sad voice, "Dongyoung, baby, if you don't want me around you anymore, just-- just tell me--"

"I want you _clean!_ " Dongyoung screamed, and Youngho took a shocked step back, his mouth falling open. Suddenly, his hands didn't know what to do-- his dirty hands had gone numb and dumber, and they gently floated around his sides for a moment before dropping completely. Youngho didn't look hurt, this time. He looked... like he knew. He looked like he was expecting this, but it was still a sad _enough_  look that Dongyoung felt his throat tighten because he was really sick of hurting Youngho but he was really sick of getting hurt, too.

"Hyung, I'm sorry. I love you, and I want you here, but not right now." Dongyoung said; and he'd learned how to ask for space. He took Youngho by the bicep and started him toward the door, gently rubbing his skin. Youngho followed him numbly-- numb and dumb and unable to speak, or to defend himself. Dongyoung opened his front door and even led Youngho outside. He was the one to stop the departure this time, but only for a moment to lean up, kiss his cheek, and tell him, "I really just want you clean.... So go home and shower, hyung. I'll see you later."


	6. v.

Youngho had a shower and plenty of comfortable water but there was one flaw in his cleaning up process: he didn't have any damn soap.

The difficult part of helping Seo Youngho was the fact that he didn't want to help himself. He swore that he did-- told Dongyoung "I do want to change, baby-- I do want to be clean, baby," but he would blow his money on dope instead of soap; he would show up at Dongyoung's window with red eyes and an awful smell and he would hardly be sober in the morning, so he hadn't a mind enough to bathe in Dongyoung's bathroom. Dongyoung had asked him if he wanted to move on from his loss, move on with his life and let Ten be a pleasant memory. Youngho said yes. He had yet to prove it.

Dongyoung wasn't the type to give up, especially not on something or someone he loved. No matter how much it hurt, he would keep fighting, fighting, fighting-- but every fighter needed a minute to breathe, so he took himself out to get coffee and talk to Jung Yoonoh.

"You never called me. I was wondering what was up." Yoonoh happened to be on break. He'd just made himself a cup of coffee, had just taken a bagel from the fresh batch when Dongyoung walked in, ordered a shot of espresso. Yoonoh made it for him ("It's okay, hyung, I got it," when Dongyoung protested that he was on break and he could just order it from the person who was coming to take over his shift at the register) and then they sat together, and Yoonoh shared his bagel but Dongyoung could only stomach three bites on top of his espresso.

"I was busy. Youngho--" Dongyoung tapped his fingers against the table. He couldn't meet Yoonoh's eyes. He couldn't think, or feel anything, really. Numb. He was tired of being angry and disappointed; he didn't even want to tell Yoonoh everything, or anything.

"Youngho?" Yoonoh asked. Dongyoung shook his head, "It's nothing," and Yoonoh scoffed, "Nothing, hyung? He's practically destroying you-- you've never been so quiet before. Not around me," and Dongyoung picked up his espresso, and drank it, "I'm just tired."

"He wears you out." Yoonoh concluded. He was right, "Yeah."

"How's work?" Yoonoh asked, sensing the need for a subject change. Finally, Donyoung looked at him; finally, because he still felt tired, but the espresso helped to wake him up, started to boost his energy right away. He took a bite of his half of his bagel-- two out of the three he would take that morning, and laughed, "Work. Work--I need to do that again."

"You quit your last job?" Yoonoh asked.

"Fired, actually. Didn't show up enough." Dongyoung said. Yoonoh shrugged, "I mean, that's okay. You have enough money from your parents--" and then he stopped because he'd messed up because he wasn't supposed to say stuff like that. The subject of Dongyoung's parents wasn't one that should come up in conversation. Yoonoh cleared his throat, "I mean--" and Dongyoung took another bite of his bagel, and stopped eating after that, because he felt sick.

"I know." Dongyoung said. He pushed the rest of his bagel in Yoonoh's direction and said "I have to go," but Yoonoh caught his hand and said "Wait. Just-- call me later, okay?" and Dongyoung said "Okay. Sure," and then he was gone, Yoonoh's weak grip lingering on his fingers.

 

 

Years ago, Dongyoung thought he would marry Yoonoh. They dated when they were fourteen and it didn't seem like anything would break them apart-- except, perhaps, for the remnants of puberty and the change of phases, in which Yoonoh realized he didn't really like boys and it felt weird to kiss Dongyoung on the mouth and he broke Dongyoung's heart for three weeks when he was fifteen, and then they moved on and remained friends through college. Yoonoh was single; Dongyoung met Youngho.

"Youngho relapsed, didn't he?" Yoonoh asked, with such a tone to his voice that it sounded like he might be proud of himself for figuring it out. Dongyoung regretted calling him right away--because he said _that_  instead of hello and today was just _not_  his day for finding the right words--except he didn't seem to regret those ones and Dongyoung tried not to be or sound angry, "Yeah."

He failed. "I'm sorry, hyung. I just-- I remember you acting like this and it was because Youngho was drugged up all the time. He-- really, he's back on 'em?"

Shortly, "Yeah."

"I'm sorry, hyung, I'm just curious. I'm worried. I-- why don't you leave him? You told me you would if he did this again."

"I want to, but his best friend died. I just-- can't bring myself to leave someone who's suffering so much."

At the same time, "But he's making you suffer," and "You want to leave me?"

Dongyoung ignored the words that came from the phone and turned around quickly to find Youngho standing near the door. He was awful quiet when he walked in, and he looked awful sad but not sober. Dongyoung didn't respond to Yoonoh or Youngho for a moment; he thought about how Yoonoh was right but also wrong; he thought about how Youngho was hurt but also _drunk_ , or high or whatever it was this time. The smell of alcohol and the smell of dope had mingled into one smell: disgusting.

"Youngho--" Dongyoung started, and Yoonoh asked "Youngho?" and Dongyoung let the phone fall a few inches away from his ear, and he gulped, and he told Yoonoh "Can I-- can I call you back, please?" and Yoonoh said "Yeah. Yeah, of course--" and he was on his way to saying something else but Dongyoung hung up and he addressed Youngho again, with less shock and less guilt because he hadn't really done anything wrong-- "Hyung--"

"Don't leave me." Youngho said, moving forward almost too quick but not scaring Dongyoung. He placed his hands on Dongyoung's shoulders and maybe looked violent but didn't feel as such; he blinked in Dongyoung's face and told him, "Please. Don't leave me, please."

"You're hurting me, Youngho," and Youngho pulled away like he'd been burned-- and _not like that_ , but alright. Dongyoung sat up straighter, "Not-- hyung, you know how much I hate you like this. You know everything is better when you're sober-- and I know that you lost your friend but I can't sit around and pretend I'm completely okay loving you knowing that you're never sober enough to really love me back."

"I-- Dongyoung, baby, don't leave me. I can't lose you, too--"

"I'm not _dying_ , Youngho, I just can't stay around you anymore. I'm so sick of fighting-- I'm so sick of you chipping away at my love--" and Dongyoung wasn't going to leave him; he wasn't, because he was going to fight, but it seemed right to let this all out, and it seemed okay to leave the mood still and sad as if Dongyoung was really going to walk away from him.

"Please understand me, Dongyoung," _I do! I think I do_ \-- "I-I've been going through things lately--"

"We're all going through things, Youngho. You think I haven't been going through things?" Dongyoung's voice cracked. "You think Ten's parents haven't been going through things? What gives you the right to show up at their house drunk in the middle of the morning? What gives you the right to smoke outside of my house and then 'make love' to me in my own room?"

"It was my fault, Dongyoung." Youngho whispered. The sudden drop of tone shocked Dongyoung, but not enough to change his stance or his anger. He did listen, though-- carefully now that Youngho's voice had gone so quiet, "He talked to me a lot-- about how his parents were so evil, how he wanted to give up. I didn't think twice about giving him double what I usually gave him. He did it on purpose, Dongyoung, and I'm the only one who knows that. I killed him, Dongyoung-- I killed my best friend."

_Why did you do this? Why would you do this?_

Youngho broke down into sobs, unable to meet Dongyoung's eyes again. The news numbed Dongyoung; this kind of shock was the kind that Dongyoung couldn't overcome right away, probably not even that night, or that week. He wasn't able to speak past the surprise; he couldn't even hold his arms out or think to comfort Youngho.

"I'm trying to make things better, but I can't-- I can't _stop_ , baby. I'm stuck in a hole with only a shovel to my name and the easiest thing is to just keep digging-- it's the only thing that keeps me preoccupied--"

"I'm _right here_ , Youngho." Dongyoung found himself getting angry again, but he stopped. He remembered that Youngho wasn't the only person that needed to work in this relationship; he remembered that he, too, had to improve himself. Taking other people's points of views into account was a good way to start; putting himself in Youngho's shoes was a good way to start. He briefly pictured himself in the kind of hole Youngho was in and realized that he wasn't there at all; he was standing at the top, just like everyone else. He was simply a witness, a bystander to a man digging himself to death-- a man he loved, no less.

"I'm here." Dongyoung repeated, though he was gentle about it this time, and he reached for Youngho and pulled him in. The hug was brief and simple; Dongyoung even kissed Youngho's neck and focused on his heartbeat. It was hard to hear past his sobs, and it was hard to feel past his desperate grip, but it was beating hard enough to be noticed, and that gave Dongyoung some hope that it may soon break past his desperate depression.


	7. vi.

Instead of telling Youngho _shower, shower, shower_ , because he only had dirt around him, Dongyoung threw him a rope.

At first, Dongyoung was scared Youngho would wrap the rope around his throat instead of his wrists or shoulders. He knew of copycat suicide and how easily Youngho could fall into the loop of it, what with the depression that came to him as he tried to move away from drugs and the hurt from the suicide he may try to copy, but the first thing Youngho did was tie a little hole and loop his wrist through it. That step was down; Dongyoung was less worried.

"How are you and Youngho doing?" Yoonoh had never gotten a call back from Dongyoung that night. Instead, Dongyoung spent the night refusing to sleep. He held Youngho instead-- through tears, confessions, promises, and sleep. Dongyoung found himself at the coffee shop early in the morning, Youngho in tow, but currently in the bathroom, and Yoonoh sat to join Dongyoung for just a moment, to talk to him briefly about how he and Youngho were doing-- "Alright."

"You didn't break up with him?" Yoonoh asked. Dongyoung shook his head, and Yoonoh asked "Why?" leaning forward as though he was interested, frowning as though he was shocked. Dongyoung wasn't sure how else to answer the question other than to explain why he wouldn't have broken up with Youngho the way he had on the phone last night, "He lost his best friend. I can't leave him while he's suffering like this."

"He's making you suffer, too." Yoonoh said, and Dongyoung recalled him saying that last night at the same time Youngho appeared in Dongyoung's living room and overheard him talking. The conversation cut off at the same point again; Youngho returned from the bathroom and Dongyoung quickly ushered Yoonoh again. Yoonoh sighed, but only loud enough for Dongyoung to hear, since Youngho hadn't gotten too close yet. Yoonoh started to stand, and to make Dongyoung promise " _Call me_ , hyung," and then he was gone, and Youngho watched Yoonoh slide out from his spot. He occupied the same seat and reached across the table to hold Dongyoung's hand.

"You feel okay?" Dongyoung asked softly. Youngho shook his head. Dongyoung knew he wouldn't-- day one, no drugs except for addictive coffee. It was rough. Dongyoung knew; he had been through this once before. Youngho got angry. He got grumpy. He didn't talk to Dongyoung for three days, but he stay beneath Dongyoung's eye, in his home, just so Dongyoung could watch over him, make sure he didn't relapse. Dongyoung wished he would have been around when Ten died-- closer, at the very least. Perhaps he never would have started again. Perhaps Dongyoung could have been his distraction instead.

"How about we go home?" Dongyoung asked, pulling himself from his guilt in an attempt to preserve what good feelings he still had left-- as it was his duty to project these feelings onto Youngho so that the older might not wear away in his awful state. Youngho shook his head again, and then he rest it on the table and kept his eyes pointed to the wall, far away from Dongyoung's face. Though he wouldn't see it, Dongyoung nodded. He, too, stared at the wall and tried to find what was so interesting. He found thoughts within his long stare-- more guilt eating away at his mind and some ideas about how he could make Youngho feel okay. He thought of talking to Yoonoh; he thought of the last time Yoonoh tried to convince Dongyoung to break up with Youngho. He remembered the argument Youngho and Yoonoh had, the fight. He remembered Yoonoh's bloody nose and Youngho's "You _wish_  he'd leave me for _you!_ " Dongyoung went home with Youngho that night-- Youngho, who donned aching knuckles and an apologetic posture, his head bowed as he told Dongyoung he regretted it, but he never made amends with Yoonoh, and they continued to hate each other to this day.

"Let's go to his grave." Dongyoung said when his head started to hurt, his mind tortured with the thoughts. Youngho shook his head right away. Dongyoung leaned over only to notice that his eyes were closed, and he wasn't going to see Dongyoung's face. Dongyoung sat back, tried to think of something to say. Something, anything to get Youngho on his feet. He could only think of Ten-- "Please? Hyung, I want to meet him."

It took a minute, perhaps even only half of one for Youngho to look at Dongyoung, but when he finally did catch a glimpse of his boyfriend's face, he broke, and he nodded in his broken way. They stood on their broken legs and walked to the broken cemetery, where they collapsed in the heated grass with exhaustion-- and they rest atop Ten's grave.

_Ten_   
_Beloved son and friend_

Youngho cried for his best friend, but he cried into Dongyoung's shoulder instead of the lonely grass, the way he had been crying and lighting up for the past weeks. Dongyoung held him as well as he could-- sturdy arms and a sorry heart. It hurt to hear Youngho cry but it was a relief all the same, to know that Youngho was feeling something other than bitter, unloving anger, and it mended Dongyoung to know that Youngho was comfortable enough to turn to his shoulder for a place to cry.

 

  
"Why do you stay with him if all he does is make you suffer?"

Dongyoung was tired of hearing the word _suffer_  come from Yoonoh's mouth, no matter that the times before had only been slightly audible because of Dongyoung's turned attention. Dongyoung had a feeling he knew why Yoonoh was so adamant on pointing out the flaws in Youngho and Youngho's relationship with Dongyoung. He had a feeling it had to do with Youngho's jealousy over Dongyoung's friendship with Yoonoh, and the reason his best friend and his boyfriend hated each other. Dongyoung hated to be the person that would choose their boyfriend over their best friend, but sometimes, when one's best friends has a toxic feeling of love for them, it just has to happen that way.

However, Dongyoung was not in a position where he had to choose one or the other-- not yet, not unless Yoonoh forced him into one. Dongyoung hoped he could steer Yoonoh from that, "He doesn't make me suffer. There's no drowning pain in helping someone through something difficult."

"When it happens multiple times, though?" Yoonoh asked.

"You mean-- _twice?_  Second chances aren't difficult to give, especially if you truly love someone." Dongyoung said. Yoonoh was silent for a long time-- so long that Dongyoung thought he had hung up, but when he pulled his phone back, he saw the numbers still ticking up, 1:34, 1:35, 1:36, and he pressed the phone to his ear again and asked, "Yoonoh?"

"You give second chances to people you truly love." Yoonoh said. Dongyoung didn't particularly like the tone of Yoonoh's voice-- the way it sounded hurt and confused, but he only hesitated a moment before answering, "Yes," and Yoonoh waited for many more moments before he said "Good to know," and then it was silent and when Dongyoung pulled the phone away from his ear again, the numbers weren't ticking up anymore.

Dongyoung put his phone down on Youngho's back-- Youngho, who was laying against his legs, head on a comfortable spot at Dongyoung's belly. The touch woke him; he was such a light sleeper, sometimes. He woke to some frustrated tears from his boyfriend-- confused and just stressed, finally letting himself cry after a storm. Youngho carefully crawled up Dongyoung's body and wiped at his eyes, croaked "What's the matter?" in a tone that suggested he didn't care, but Dongyoung knew he did-- Youngho was the type of person to not ask if he didn't want an answer. Dongyoung shook his head; he rubbed his eyes and he ignored Youngho's question because he didn't have an answer to give, only a jumbled mind.

"Did someone make you upset?" Youngho asked. He fished Dongyoung's phone off of his back and looked at the screen, at Dongyoung. His fingers were hovering above his passcode numbers-- a passcode he knew but was asking for permission to type in. Dongyoung nodded at him, and Youngho typed in his code, was immediately met with Dongyoung's call history. The number at the top, and the only number for the past two weeks was _Jung Yoonoh_.

"What did he say?" Youngho asked, his voice flipping from concerned to angry. Dongyoung could only think to say, "He makes things hard to figure out," to which Youngho was confused but could conclude that Yoonoh hadn't said anything directly offensive, else Dongyoung would have told him. So, he put the phone down, and he pressed his lips over Dongyoung's, and it was the first clean kiss Dongyoung had gotten in a long time.


	8. vii.

"I'm sorry if you think I'm being selfish," Dongyoung found himself brave enough to confront Yoonoh on his break, sitting together in the shop and drinking and eating nothing. Dongyoung didn't want to lose Yoonoh as a friend, but he didn't want to lose Youngho as a boyfriend; and Dongyoung hoped his words would stop Yoonoh from trying to make Dongyoung choose, "but I-- _need_  you to stop doing this. I need you, please, to support me right now-- and whenever I need you, because I really want to do the same for you, but I can't do that if you keep trying to put our friendship, or your fantasy of our relationship over my relationship. I need you, Yoonoh. I need you as a best friend, and I need Youngho as a boyfriend-- I need to have you both. _Please_."

Yoonoh wouldn't look at Dongyoung, but Yoonoh never looked at anyone when he was being confronted. It was more than that, though, and Dongyoung could tell when he saw a tear drip from Yoonoh's eye, when his hand shot up to wipe the rest away.

"How can you help me if you don't ask about me at all?" Yoonoh asked, quirking an eyebrow. Dongyoung lost his breath for a moment as he realized he had been neglecting Yoonoh.

"I can't." Dongyoung said. He leaned his arms against the table, "That's something I need your help with. I can't focus on you when something this big comes up-- so please, help me focus. Tell me what's going on. I _will_  listen, and if I don't, I'll face whatever consequence you throw at me. I'll be sorry. Please-- help me focus, okay?"

Yoonoh was silent for another few moments, giving himself time to wipe away his tears, to formulate a thought. He finally said something when his fingers were soaked in his tears, "My sister died last week."

Dongyoung's breath caught. He hated all the death happening around him.

"I'm sorry for pushing my feelings on you," Yoonoh said. He soaked his palms with his tears next, rubbing the heels of his hands roughly over his eyes. "I guess-- I was just looking for some comfort, and I knew you were looking for some, too. I thought the two of us could be okay, together, at least for a little while."

Dongyoung understood that; he understood Yoonoh's strong desire for comfort, and he felt a little guilty for not giving it to him in his first week of sadness. Dongyoung scoot over on his side of the booth, and he pat the leather spot next to him, "Come here."

Yoonoh did as was suggested, sliding out of his side of the booth to sit next to Dongyoung. Dongyoung tucked an arm over his shoulder, a chin over his head. Yoonoh cried a bit-- only a bit, because he had to go back to working in five minutes and he had to compose himself for that. Dongyoung was shocked Yoonoh had been working all along, but he knew Yoonoh, and he knew the younger would need some distraction to keep him sane as he dealt with the loss of a loved one. Dongyoung had often told him "I don't think I'll ever know that you're sad unless you tell me," and he was right.

"When's her funeral?" Dongyoung asked quietly. Yoonoh rubbed his eyes once more, breathed once more, "Tomorrow."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"Please."

 

  
Funerals were routined for Dongyoung-- so routine, in fact, that he hardly remembered the one for Yoonoh's sister. It was like coming home from work and not remembering the drive home; his mind had adapted to the path of death. He stood around, and he hugged people that were crying, and he watched the coffin be lowered into the ground, and suddenly he and Yoonoh were sitting in the back of Dongyoung's car, with a sunshade over the windshield, and Dongyoung had his arm around Yoonoh as Yoonoh sobbed into his shoulder. Dongyoung's pocket was buzzing, and it had been for some time, but both men ignored it. Dongyoung was sure it was Youngho, curious as to where he was because Dongyoung hadn't mentioned a thing.

"Thank you." Yoonoh told Dongyoung. He'd been hearing that a lot lately.

"It's okay." Dongyoung told Yoonoh. He'd been saying that a lot lately.

In fact, a lot had been happening lately. Two people managed to shake Dongyoung's whole world in the span of a few months, and Dongyoung was left wondering how he was even helping, considering how much his mind had shut down in the face of routine. It was a miracle he could recall any of the arguments, really; and maybe he couldn't. Maybe he filled in the gaps that he assumed were true. It was hard to guess what Dongyoung was thinking, with his blank expression staring at the sunshade. It was clear to tell there was a lot going on in his head-- with his fingers curled around Yoonoh's sleeve, and his lips parted in the slightest, breathing through the space between his teeth instead of his nose. His eyes swarmed with emotion, but it was undetectable-- one of the ones that didn't quite have a name, or a description.

"I wonder," Dongyoung brought up randomly, when he and Yoonoh had moved to the front seats. Yoonoh's tears were dry, and Dongyoung was holding the steering wheel. He was staring outside again, but the sunshade was gone and he was damaging his eyes, staring at the reflection of the sun in the water in front of him. ( _L'appel du vide_  put a name to that reckless feeling of self-destruction people experienced: and Dongyoung felt like driving himself straight into the water, his peripheral focusing on the path that could take him there -- but his wonder got the best of this reckless thought:) "why you and Youngho are so depressed, and why I managed to escape it."

 

  
(Don't you realize it, Dongyoung? Your boyfriend is coming down from a prolonged high, and your best friend is dealing with the sadness of a lost sibling: _their_  depression is situational. _Yours_ is chronic.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ambiguous endings are my specialty  
> \- also sorry I changed the title at literally the last minute


End file.
